.

SPURNING A BRIBE.

"I would like to speak with you."

Frank felt a touch on his shoulder, and the words sounded in his ear. He
turned quickly and found himself face to face with the mysterious
stranger.

It happened that at that moment they were alone, nearly all the throng
having gathered about three fellows who, with banjo, mandolin and
zither, were making some lively music.

"What do you want?" asked Frank, rather suspiciously.

The man beckoned for him to come aside.

"I have something I wish to say to you, and I do not care to be
overheard by others," he declared.

"Well, I wonder what sort of a snap this is?" thought Merriwell.

He hesitated a moment, and then curiosity to know what the stranger had
to say overcame him, and he followed the man to a corner of the room.

The stranger was very mysterious in his manner.

"You are a likely sort of youngster," he said, in a rather noncommittal
way.

"Is that what you wish to tell me?" asked Frank, sharply.

"Steady, young colt! Don't be in too much of a hurry. It doesn't pay to
be in a hurry--none whatever."

Frank's impatience increased. He did not like the stranger's manner, for
there was something crafty and insinuating about it.

"If any one were watching us, he'd be sure to think we were putting up
some sort of a crooked game," thought Merriwell.

"My time is valuable," he said aloud.

"Then you can't make more out of it than you can by spending it gabbling
with the crowd."

The man's manner was offensive, but Frank's curiosity caused him to hold
himself in check and listen to what the stranger should say.

"You are interested in other sports besides rowing, I reckon?" said the
unknown, inquiringly.

"Yes."

"Baseball?"

"Yes."

"I have heard that you pitch on the 'varsity nine."

"That is right."

The man assumed a more cautious air than ever, and lowered his voice
still more.

"I allow that the man who pitches can throw a game, if he wants to?"

Frank's dislike for the stranger increased rapidly.

"He can throw a game if he is crooked and dirty enough to do such a mean
thing!" came with spirit from the lad.

"That is putting it a heap rough," deprecatingly declared the man.
"Every galoot is out for the dust. It is the way of the old world, as
you will find before you have hoofed it much farther along the trail of
life."

"Well, what are you driving at?"

"Yale won the race to-day, and I reckon she's got glory enough